


The Hair That Binds

by StongeOfTheGalaxium



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StongeOfTheGalaxium/pseuds/StongeOfTheGalaxium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a silly little thing about what happens when you get drunk and have mischievous children. Inspired by a post I found on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hair That Binds

It had been another long day of business with the dwarves, which as usual, had left Thranduil in a foul mood. He’d perked up a bit on the journey back to Dale with Bard, but he was still rather bitter. Out came the wine the moment they were in Bard’s home, the bitter complaints from Thranduil gradually turning into drunken stories and jokes between the pair until they grew too drunk to stand, instead they merely ended up passing out in the middle of the sitting room, propping each other up.

It is uncertain how long they’d been slumped together like that when Sigrid came home, but by now they were long lost to that deep, alcohol induced sleep, and no amount of poking, nor prodding, nor shouting would rouse them from this state further than mumbled, indiscernible complaining at the disruption. So that was how it was, thought Sigrid. Very well. Might as well have a little fun if that was how they wanted to play. She and Tilda had been learning (or trying to, at least) some of the intricate braids and plaits from the elves (Tilda picked it up rather better than her elder sister, but Sigrid didn’t mind too much) and she needed to get some practice in anyway.

She began weaving the dingy brown locks of her da, with the fine, silken hair of the elven king, but she just couldn’t seem to make it work. It was as she was undoing her work for about the fifth time, silently glad that they were too far gone to take any notice of what she was doing, when Legolas poked his head in the door, assuming, correctly, that his father might still be here as he hadn’t returned to Mirkwood following the meeting at Erebor.

Sigrid grew flustered, worrying the prince might get angry at what she was doing. “They wouldn’t wake up,” she explained weakly.

Legolas merely grinned conspiratorially. ”And they probably won’t for some time. Here, let me help.” With that he crouched beside her, his lithe fingers making quick, intricate work of the contrasting hair. “They’ll probably kill us for this, you realise?” Though he said it in a serious tone, he followed it with a laugh. “If they can even manage to move without tripping over one another.”

Their work done, Sigrid retired to bed, and Legolas decided to spend the night on the sofa because he wanted to be around for the reaction when Bard and his father woke up. Thankfully Thranduil had softened somewhat since being around Bard, a few months ago, Legolas would never have dreamed of doing such a prank, in fear of his father’s wrath.

By morning of course, both Sigrid and Legolas had forgotten what they had done, as most do when lost to the land of dreams. So, of course, when jolted awake by angry, pained shouting from Bard and Thranduil, Legolas’ initial response was to grab his bow and quiver from the end of the sofa, while Sigrid, Bain and Tilda came running in from their respected bedrooms.

Once the sleep fog and adrenaline cleared from their minds, however, with help from the stern, distressed looks from Bard and Thranduil, Sigrid and Legolas merely doubled over in laughter while the two younger Bardlings looked on in confusion.

Getting up when you're hung over is hard, getting up when your hair is intricately braided with someone else’s is even harder. Getting up with both is next to impossible. So when Bard lunged toward Sigrid and Thranduil lunged toward Legolas, all they really managed to achieve was a painful level of hair pulling (which really didn’t help the hangover headache). Even Bain was laughing by now, but Tilda was looking a little concerned.

Giving up, Bard and Thranduil slumped against each other once more, glowering at their respective children.

"Fix it," they growled in unison.

When the hangover wore off, they would begin to find the humor in it, and eventually look back on that memory fondly, but, for now, the fathers were unamused.


End file.
